Despairing Verses of the Dead Shepherd
by FanficMonster101
Summary: A tale from Don Quixote, in the style of Naruto.


**Me:** Okay...probably not wanted you wanted to hear, but I'm not going to be posting anything else any time soon. School has started, which means I have hours of homework each night. But that's not really the reason I'm not posting - my computer won't charge, and I have to re-solder the points or some such thing, which I have no idea how to do. Added to that, I have no warranty, meaning I can't send it in, so...for the past few weeks, I've been using my family computer. This is all I can do, since everything else I'm working on is conveniently saved on my dead laptop. Don't hate me. Or this story.

It's based on a chapter of the book Don Quixote de la Mancha, the story of a crazy guy who believes he is a knight and gets into all sorts of trouble. This particular chapter is about the shepherd Chrysostom, and the shepherd Marcela. Basically, Chrysostom falls in love with Marcela's beauty, and abandons his scholar's life to live as a shepherd in hopes of wooing her. However, she has decided not to let any man court her, and he dies of a broken heart. In his last letter, which his friends read at his funeral, he blames her; but Marcela herself appears at the ceremony and defends her honor, explaining that she never wanted him to die, but that it was not her fault.

I suppose it's a bit of some one-sided NaruSaku, NaruHina, and SasuSaku. Nobody gets their happy ending. Yay.

Enjoy!

**{:|:}**

The sky was dark and dreary. There were no distinct clouds in the sky; rather, the entire sky was covered in a thin sheet of clouds, removing any hope of sunlight. The setting was a small valley formed by softly sloping hills, in the middle of which was what appeared to be a mass of people.

The group was gathered in somber silence, their gazes resting on the casket in their midst. It was plain, made of dark wood, with no skillful carvings or exquisite embellishments. A tall man stepped forth, his face serious. When he spoke, it was with an air of composure, and all who heard his voice were comforted, if only the slightest bit.

"We all know of Naruto's virtues," began the man, "and of his faults. But he was a good man, an honest man, no one would deny that." He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing briefly, and his audience was captivated. He was young, that was plain to see – about Naruto's age. His eyes held a deep solemnity, as the occasion commanded. Even with his somewhat comical spiky ponytail-bound hair, he seemed to possess a maturity that was usually reserved for people twice his age. He surveyed the people before him briefly, his eyes touching on no one in particular. "He was a good friend. One of my best friends." He paused again. "This village owes him everything. Its people owe him their lives." He lowered his eyes to the casket that held the departed, his voice lowering a bit. "And we, as friends, as comrades, owe him countless moments. Moments when he comforted us. Moments when he saved us, from ourselves or from others. Moments when he was there. Rooting for us. Supporting us. We all owe him. More than we could ever repay." He fell silent, and the world echoed it. No one spoke. They were all lost in memories, remembering the man they knew. The hero. The friend. Naruto.

Another man stepped forward. Although he had a wild, almost feral look about him, his face was set, usually fierce eyes grim. As he passed the tall male, he murmured, "Thanks, Shikamaru," and the Nara nodded.

The new man took his place, and gazed out at the crowd with a kind of calm anger. He began. "In his last days, Naruto wrote a letter of sorts. He never addressed it, and it seemed to be more to himself than anyone. I would like to read you this letter."

Without waiting for a response, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket and began to read.

_My heart is heavy. I find it hard to eat, drink, or sleep. I know that this will detrimental to my health; but I am too weary to care. Nothing gives me comfort anymore. But why? Why is it that neither food, nor water, nor sleep can satisfy me? The answer lies with Sakura. My fair, lovely Sakura._

Here, the reading was interrupted by an outburst of murmurings and whispers from the crowd. The man who was reading waited patiently for it to end, and when it died down, he resumed.

_I love her more than life. I love her more than the Earth loves the Sun, more than the sky loves the air – more than anyone or anything could love anyone else. I love her more than I love myself. But she has scorned me. She has rejected my love, crushed my dreams, and ruined my hope. She has led me on; she has neglected me; she has given her heart to someone else. And still I love her. Nothing, __nothing__ could be more beautiful than Sakura. Not woman, or nature, or love. Yes, my Sakura is more beautiful than love, more gorgeous than passion, more entrancing than adoration. I grow weak with want. She laughs at my declarations, sneers at my confessions. I have endured this for years, but I am only human...despite the beast that lies inside of me. I feel that my life is coming to an end, but my love will never die. Love for the fair, lovely, heartless Sakura._

The reader lowered the paper and cast his eyes over the people, who were once again mute with astonishment. Then, a quiet voice spoke up.

"Sakura-chan isn't l-like that," a girl said, softly. Heads turned towards her.

Hyuga Hinata stared straight at her teammate, unwavering in her gaze. Kiba stared back, waiting for an explanation, holding the letter at his side. The heiress broke eye contact to look at Naruto's coffin. Her tone was serene and bereft of any discernable feeling. "At the time that he wrote this, Naruto was bitter with resentment. He was not himself, a-and would not have said those things otherwise."

Many in the group nodded their heads and murmured their agreement, casting glances at Hinata, who had loved Naruto unfailingly for much of her life. To hear him speak so passionately about his love for Sakura must have been heartbreaking – but Hinata's face was empty of emotion as she stared at the casket. She was a Hyuga, after all.

Then, a figure stepped over the hill, standing out against the dull background. Everyone was surprised to see that it was Sakura herself, for whom Naruto declared his love.

People who had never seen her face before gaped, for she was just as beautiful, if not more so, than descriptions of her could convey. However, her face was hard, and her jade eyes were unpitying. She stood still, the traveling cloak she wore billowing gently about her.

Nobody said uttered a word for a moment, and then Kiba said, slowly, "You killed him. Because of you, he is dead."

Sakura did not flinch at the words, but merely turned to Kiba with a stony gaze. "I did not choose to be beautiful," she said.

"I did not ask for Naruto to love me. I have never given him hope, never encouraged him, never led him on. It was not I who killed him."

"All that is beautiful is loveable. Men love me because I am beautiful, and no one can blame me for that. Yet they expect me to love them back, even if they are ugly. 'I love you because you are beautiful. Now love me in return, even though I am not so.' There is no sense in those words. Am I expected to give my love, as well as my virtue, to any man who proclaims to love me? Love must not always be reciprocated. If I were ugly, would you still blame me for his death? If I were ugly, would he have loved me in the first place? My appearance I cannot change. I did not choose this face. But if you propose to contradict me, if you insist that I love any man who will love me, answer me this – if he wants me for my beauty, will he not also, being a man, want my purity as well? If he desires my face, will he not also desire my flesh?"

"Beauty is nothing without virtue. A woman who has no virtue but is beautiful anyway does not deserve to be so. If I give away my virtue, I am forfeiting my beauty. I have chosen to guard my chastity, and will not get married, nor let any one man pursue me. I have not given preference to one man over another, so Naruto has no cause for jealousy. I have given every man equal treatment, so he cannot complain of neglect. And for the same reason, he cannot claim that I have led him on. It is not I who have killed him with deceit, neglect, and cruelty – he has killed himself with longing, desire, and love."

And with that, she turned on her heel and took her leave.

The crowd was amazed that Sakura not only possessed great beauty, but good sense as well. They watched her go in admiration, and even though she had clearly warned them against it, several men began to move forward as if to go after her – but were stopped by stern looks from Kiba and Shikamaru and small shakes of the head from Hinata.

**{:|:}**

As Sakura approached the forest from whence she came, she found someone waiting for her there.

His face was expressionless, and he donned a black traveling cloak. Upon seeing her, his handsome features did not change; his look remained devoid of any emotion. They stared at each other for a few moments, before he spoke.

"You are a liar," he said, impassively, "You are a liar, and a coward."

Without looking back, he left her there, disappearing into the trees.

Sakura crumpled to the ground, her face in her hands, her beauty standing out against the dark, dreary sky.

**{:|:}**

**Me: **I feel like I use the "gray, depressing" sky thing a tad too often. Yeah, I know that Naruto's letter was probably _way_ beyond his usual vocabulary/grammar, but hey. My story, my rules. And I've decided that Naruto should speak like a literature professor.

Thoughts? Like it? Hate it? It's my first attempt at NaruSaku, in any form (never cared for that pairing, personally). And my first death-fic. So, leave some cuddles, ne? I could use them.

...PWWEEEEAAAASSSEEE?


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